"What have you been doing to make yourself lovelier, little Sunbeam?"
"I have been a year without seeing you,"--said Faith with excellent seriousness.
"My presence seems to have no counteracting effect. By the same rule, I should be--marvellous! To you perceive it?"
Her eye gave one of its little flashes, but Faith immediately looked away.
"Do you know," said Mr. Linden, "I can hardly believe that this year of exile is over--and that there are none others to follow it. What do you suppose will be the first subject you and I shall consider?"
"Mr. Skip," said Faith gravely.
"Mr. Skip merits no consideration whatever. Is Miss Bezac at work on that dress?"
"Because he don"t live with us any longer, Endecott."
"Does he not?--Unfortunate man!"
"And Dromy is in his place."
"My dear, my own place is the only one I can think of with any intense interest. Except yours."
"Because we have had no farm to manage this winter," said Faith; "so Dromy could do what we wanted."
"I am glad to hear it," said Mr. Linden,--"he never used to be able to do what I wanted. Who has managed for you? Mr. Simlins? And has Mr.
Skip gone off in a pumpkin with Cinderella? Faith, there is the door where I had the first sight of you--my Rose of delight!" he added softly, as if all the days since then were pa.s.sing through his mind in sweet procession.
Faith was silent, for she too had something to think of; and there was no more time to finish either train of conversation that had been started. Both dropped, even before Jerry drew up at the gate; and if she had not gained one object she had the other.
By this time it was about eleven o"clock. It was rarely very hot in Pattaqua.s.set; and now though under a sunny sky there were summer breezes rustling in the trees. Both mingled in Faith"s senses with the joy of going into that house again so accompanied. That gladness of getting home in a pleasant hour! No one was in the cool sitting-room--Faith pushed open the door between and went into the eating-room, followed by Mr. Linden. There was Mrs. Derrick; and what of all things doing but _doing up_ some of Faith"s new ruffles! It was a glad meeting,--what though Mrs. Derrick had no hand to give anybody.
Then she went to get rid of the starch, and the two others to their respective rooms. But in a very few minutes indeed Faith was by her side again.
"Mother--has Cindy come?"
"She"s coming to-morrow, child. But there"s not much to do for dinner,--_that_"s all under way."
Faith bared her arms and plunged into dairy and kitchen to do all that her mother characterized as "not much," and a little more. When every possible item had been cared for--the strawberries looked over--the cream made ready--the table set--the lettuce washed--the dishes warming for the vegetables--the pickles and bread on the table--and Faith had through all this delighted Mrs. Derrick as much as possible with her company, sight and presence at least,--for Faith"s words were a trifle less free than usual;--when it was all done and the eating-room in a state of pleasant shady summer readiness, Faith went "ben," as they say in Scotland. She came into the sitting-room, as quietly as usual, and coming up to Mr. Linden laid a hand on his shoulder.
"My own dear little Mignonette!--Do you feel less afraid of me, now I am here?"
She hesitated to answer at first, then spoke with a very dainty shy look--"I don"t think I ever had fear enough of you to hurt anything."
"See that you do not begin now! What have you been about, all these long months? You were as chary of details as if I had no right to them."
Faith looked gravely out of the window before she said, "I have not been studying this year, Endecott." There was so clearly some reason for it, that Mr. Linden"s first thought was one of anxiety.
"What has been the matter?"
"You know I told you Mr. Skip had gone away?"
"Yes."
"And that he went because we hadn"t any farm to manage?"
"What has the farm to do with your studies?"
"What shall I do if I make you very angry with me?" said Faith, the least touch of seriousness mingling with her words,
"You had better ask what I shall do. Has Mr. Deacon come back and taken possession?"
"Yes--And you know, Endy, we used to live by the farm. When that was gone we had to live by something else. I wouldn"t tell you if I could help your knowing it."
"Mignonette, what have you been doing?"
"You know what Pet found me at?"
"Yes."--She could not tell whether he saw the whole,--he was clearly in the mind to hear it, taking both her hands in his.
"I did that," said Faith.
"Did what?"
"I got work from Miss Bezac.--She gave me lessons."
"For how long?"
"Since--about a fortnight after you went away. It was then Squire Deacon took away the farm. From that time until Pet came--" she added with a little rise of colour in her cheeks.
"And that all the daylight and candlelight hours of each day?"
"O no, not that. I had long walks to Miss Bezac"s, you know--or rides--every day or two; for we kept Jerry; and I never sewed before breakfast. And in the evening I used to write letters--part of the evening."
"Child! child!"--He dropped her hands, and began to pace up and down the moderate limits of Mrs. Derrick"s best carpet. Until after a few turns Faith put herself straight in his way and intercepted him, with a very innocent face.
"Faith, did no one protest against this--for me?"
"Yes, sir."--
"And you knew that I had guarded--that I had _tried_ to guard you against any such possibility?"
Faith paused. "Yes, I knew,--but Endy, that couldn"t make any difference."
"It did not--How, could not?"
"It ought not," she said softly and colouring.
"Can you tell why?"
"You know, Endy, it was better,--it was right,--it was better that I should work for myself."